Part 108 (2/2)

His low, stern tone of bitter suffering and self-reproach was something new and frightful to Laura. She clung to his arm and tried to say--'O, don't speak in that way! You know you meant the best. You could not help being mistaken.'

'If I did know any such thing, Laura! but the misery of perceiving that my imagined anxiety for his good,--his good, indeed! was but a cloak for my personal enmity--you can little guess it.'

Laura tried to say that appearances were against Guy, but he would not hear.

'If they were, I triumphed in them. I see now that a shade of honest desire to see him exculpated would have enabled me to find the clue. If I had gone to St. Mildred's at once--interrogated him as a friend--seen Wellwood--but dwelling on the _ifs_ of the last two years can bring nothing but distraction,' he added, pausing suddenly.

'And remember,' said Laura, 'that dear Guy himself was always grateful to you. He always upheld that you acted for his good. Oh! the way he took it was the one comfort I had last year.'

'The acutest sting, and yet the only balm,' murmured Philip; 'see, Laura,' and he opened the first leaf of Guy's prayer-book, which he had been using at the christening.

A whispered 'Dear Guy!' was the best answer she could make, and the tears were in her eyes. 'He was so very kind to me, when he saw me that unhappy wedding-day.'

'Did Amy tell you his last words to me?'

'No,' said Laura.

'G.o.d bless you and my sister!' he repeated, so low that she could hardly hear.

'Amy left that for you to tell,' said Laura, as her tears streamed fast.

How can we speak of her, Philip?'

'Only as an angel of pardon and peace!' he answered.

'I don't know how to tell you of all her kindness,' said Laura; 'half the bitterness of it seemed to be over when once she was in the house again, and, all the winter, going into her room was like going into some peaceful place where one must find comfort.'

'”Spirits of peace, where are ye” I could have said, when I saw her drive away at Recoara, and carry all good angels with her except those that could not but hover round that grave.'

'How very sad it must have been! Did--'

'Don't speak of it; don't ask me of it' said Philip, hastily. 'There is nothing in my mind but a tumult of horror and darkness that it is madness to remember. Tell me of yourself--tell me that you have not been hurt by all that I have brought on you.'

'Oh, no!' said Laura 'besides, that is all at an end.'

'All an end! Laura, I fear in joining your fate to mine, you will find care and grief by no means at an end. You must be content to marry a saddened, remorseful man, broken down in health and spirits, his whole life embittered by that fatal remembrance, forced to endure an inheritance that seems to have come like the prosperity of the wicked.

Yet you are ready to take all this? Then, Laura, that precious, most precious love, that has endured through all, will be the one drop of comfort through the rest of my life.

She could but hear such words with thrills of rejoicing affection; and on they walked, Laura trembling and struck with sorrow at the depth of repentance he now and then disclosed, though not in the least able to fathom it, thinking it all his n.o.bleness of mind, justifying him to herself, idolizing him too much to own he had ever been wrong; yet the innate power of tact and sympathy teaching her no longer to combat his self-reproaches, and repeat his former excuses, but rather to say something soothing and caressing, or put in some note of thankfulness and admiration of Amy and Guy. This was the best thing she could do for him, as she was not capable, like Amy, of acknowledging that his repentance was well-founded. She was a nurse, not a physician, to the wounded spirit; but a very good and gentle nurse she was, and the thorough enjoyment of her affection and sympathy, the opening into confidence, and the freedom from doubt and suspense, were comforts that were doing him good every hour.

The christening party consisted only of the Rosses, and Dr. Mayerne, who had joined them at East-hill church, and walked home with Mr.

Edmonstone. They could not have been without him, so grateful were they for his kindness all through their anxious winter, and Mr. Edmonstone was well pleased to tell him on the way home that they might look to having a wedding in the family; it had been a very long attachment, constancy as good as a story, and he could all along have told what was the matter, when mamma was calling in the doctor to account for Laura's looking pale.

The doctor was not surprised at the news, for perhaps he, too, had had some private theory about those pale looks; but, knowing pretty well the sentiments Charles had entertained the winter before last, he was curious to find out how he regarded this engagement. Charles spoke of it in the most ready cordial way. 'Well, doctor, so you have heard our news! I flatter myself we have as tall and handsome a pair of lovers to exhibit here, as any in the United Kingdom, when we have fattened him a little into condition.'

'Never was there a better match,' said Dr. Mayerne. 'Made for each other all along. One could not see them without feeling it was the first chapter of a novel.'

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